


The Tragedy of The Endless Performance

by Notmarysue



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Child Abandonment, Loneliness, M/M, No Dialogue, Paranoia, Post-Apocalypse, Theatre, season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:13:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25039066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Notmarysue/pseuds/Notmarysue
Summary: Attend the tale of Martin Blackwood and the tragedy of the endless performance.(Season 4/Season 5 spoilers)
Relationships: Jonathan Sims&Martin Blackwood
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	The Tragedy of The Endless Performance

Martin had never been a fan of theatre. Even when he was little and his school herded his class across town for the Christmas pantomime, they made him feel uncomfortable. It never felt real to him, like he’d taken a step out of reality and was looking back in, only to find that everything had always been a performance. Of course, he knew it wasn’t supposed to feel real. It wasn’t real. He was supposed to embrace suspension of disbelieve, the same way he would a film or a TV show, but he could never manage it. TV was contained. It was boxed away in its own little world. Theatre was right there, encroaching on his space, bleeding into his reality. While everyone else was laughing and jeering, Martin found himself wondering what would happen if he walked right into the performance. Would they have to stop and step into his world or would the act continue the way it always had?

Of course, the whole world had become a stage since the change. No matter what fear they’d been taken by, everyone had become a puppet to something. And then there was him and Jon, as far as he knew the last two ‘free’ people in the whole world. Even their reality had become a strange act. The act of sanity, both with painted smiles, each trying to convince the other that everything would be all right. Jon was trying, Martin knew he was trying, but their performance of a journey with purpose grew less convincing by the day. The more they walked, the more Martin struggled to believe they’d ever reach their destination.

At least he felt safe in The Web’s domain. It wasn’t a good place, it was a eternal Hell for so many souls, but he knew Annabelle wouldn’t hurt him. He wasn’t sure why she protected him. It couldn’t have been pity. The avatars didn’t feel pity. If they did, they could never function. Was it a game? Was he a new kind of puppet, cursed to believe he was free? Or maybe she just wanted to get on Jon’s good side. He was the closest thing to a threat her power faced. His love cursed him to understand everything that was happening, but it sheltered him from feeling its wrath. He wondered if there were others that the avatars spared. People they’d loved before, people who lived sheltered, lonely lives in what remained of existence. Somehow, he doubted it. Most of the avatars had traded their lives long ago, either by choice or by force, and left their souls to the monsters. The only one who stayed was Jon, the man who clung onto his humanity despite all the pain.

Martin didn’t expect to see a familiar face on the stages that night, but he found one all the same. He supposed it was inevitable. He was going to found someone he knew eventually, or at least someone he used to know. And there he stood, the man who wore his face. Elias hadn’t been lying before, he really was a spitting image of his father. The man caught in The Web’s endless play could have been his twin, if it wasn’t for his grey hair and wrinkled skin. Martin watched closely, staring right into the heart of the man on the stage. He hoped he could see him sat there. He hoped he felt every ounce of pain he’d ever created.

He heard the voices too. The characters were never seen, but their words were always clear. Some voices he knew, some he didn’t. Some he had vague memories of, just out of reach. Their presence haunted him like distant ghosts, but their words barely touched him. They weren’t for him, they were for his father. He heard his uncles, the ones who cut contact shortly after his father abandoned the family. He heard his mother, starting sweet, slowly growing bitter. He heard himself, the little boy he used to be, begging his parents to stop fighting. He didn’t remember these fights, not well at least, and he knew his role there had been minimal. Still, he could tell his father remembered. Martin tried desperately to read his emotions. He needed to know whether he had ever had an affect on him at all, but he couldn’t tell. Though the man on the stage continued The Web’s dance, his eyes were dead. The performance had been going so long that the effect had run dry.

He wasn’t sure how many runs he watched, but eventually he sighed and walked away. His father wouldn’t see him, the performance would never stop. Jon would be wrapping up his statement and their dance would be ready to continue. He trudged back through endless walkaways, enjoying a few extra seconds to be alone and himself. All he had was these rare moments. The rest of the time, he was part of someone else’s story.


End file.
